A Nod To The Past
by BookishTea
Summary: Courier Six and Dean Domino have a tender moment in the calm of the Cloud...Well, they almost do.
Dean scowled as he drummed his weathered fingers against a counter, glaring at the figure that was hunched across the room from him. She was sorting through a dresser like an animal, and seemed to not care how she looked.

"Are you quite done?" he grumbled, quickly glancing back to the door they had boarded up for the moment. It wouldn't do any good, those creatures would cut through that hunk of wood like a music critic on fresh blood, until nothing was left but the taste of shame.

"Yes!" she hissed, pulling back to brush a few hair strands that escaped her pony-tail. As the Courier clutched her treasure to her form, she turned around with an excited expression on her face.

Dean immediately dropped his gaze to the coveted object, trying to ignore the way it was clutched to her armor clad chest. There wasn't much to look at anyways, it looked like a brick was protruding from her torso.

"This was all for some Stimpaks?" he grunted, chapped lines curling into disgust as he eyed them.

"No, not just for some Stimpaks. I also found something else." After stuffing her find into her worn and stained backpack, Six turned her back towards the Pre-War star to grab at something else. Seconds later she held out a large ashy disk, practically forcing it into his lap with unexplained glee.

It took him a few seconds to realize what it was, a piece of the past had found its way into the wreckage called future. But he should have expected that, the Sierra Madre was known to have its claws sunk into the past, that's why they were here. More importantly, that's why he was here. An old relic belonged in the close comfort of another, but Dean seemed to be the only one doing any comforting.

"A vinyl?"

Six shook her head, "Yes, but its yours!"

Dean was slow to hunch over, slightly sliding down his sunglasses to peer at the jacket that barely hung onto the record.

He cleared this throat, "What good is this going to do?"

"Nothing to aid us, but it'd be nice to listen to after."

" _After?_ " Dean attempted, tasting the word on his tongue with a hint of mirth and surprise. Even now he was getting skirmish, which only happened when the fated moment was spoken about. Don't get him wrong, the Sierra Madre had made its presence known to the world, but the theater was saying its goodbyes and she still wanted the spotlight.

And despite what anyone said, Dean was anything but greedy. He knew a certain time had to be finished, swept up in expensive gin and the magic of night.

Though he surely didn't have to like it, no matter the difference being another life coughing inside the Cloud.

"You're downright delirious if you expect me to lug this around, especially if you drag me through those wastelands."

Six rose up her head, blinking as she stared at the lounge singer. Rubbing at the grit that was smeared on her forehead, a mixture of sweat, dust, and the hefty weight of residue from the toxic atmosphere, she mulled over his words. Unaware as she continued her work, the beginnings of a scar on her temple peered from behind hair dyed a shocking blue.

Neither would comment on it, but through the safety net of his cracked but still inky sunglasses, Dean's eyes flickered towards the jagged and raised flesh. Without consent his fingers twitched, and the sudden urge for another cigarette arose.

Determined to not stare any longer at the filthy woman across from him, Dean plucked a limply sagging cigarette from the counter top. Using a lighter he had found crammed under a sofa, he lite up the stick before taking a large lungful. The burn was there to greet him, twisting and curling his innards in an almost sweet way.

"I'll carry it."

Any expertise he had was soon chucked out the window with that statement, reducing him to a coughing fit that had him clutching at his collar with a sense of helplessness. He was sure tears would have streamed down his crackling cheeks, if his tear ducts weren't dried up like water split on sand.

"I beg your pardon?" he finally managed, disbelief colouring his tone.

Six waved off the remark, "It's alright, I'll take it when you come with me to the Strip. Speaking of which, I have so much to show you. I have this friend Raul, I think you'll get along fin-"

"Who..." he cut with a dignified snort, "who said I was going with you?"

Six paused in her search for goods, partly because of the question and the inescapable fact that she had stuffed whatever valuables she could into her backpack already.

"You did."

"I did no such thing." he said with a sneer, glaring at the Courier through a layer of spinning smoke.

"C'mon, Deannie." she sighed, slowly making her way to the window. With a grunt she heaved the old frame upwards, giving a slight wince at the loud squeal of protest it gave. Ignoring the large chips of rotten wood and flakes of paint on her hands, Six glanced over her shoulder in a way that was supposed to be seductive.

She really did want Dean to meet Raul, they wouldn't like each other, she was sure of that. But it would give them something to do, actively hate one another to absolute bliss. Or at least to the point that Six didn't have to listen to Raul complain, and sass her all day. That was beginning to get annoying, and she was afraid that her finger would slip on its trigger one of these days.

The glare he sent her was blistering, but she suspected that was more because of the nickname she had given him.

"Look," she sighed "we both win. I get a living breathing radio, which I hope doesn't become drown out by static. I hate it when that happens...And you get the chance to see the bright lights, to live in luxury as you were meant to!"

Six was just starting to slide her way out of the frame when Dean began to laugh, a deep and smothering sound that had you fidgeting. Her hands tightened their grip on the wood, holding up her weight as she blindly searched for the ledge underneath with her foot.

"You're insane, has anyone ever told you that?" Dean chuckled, perfectly looking the description from his seat. Wearing a torn tuxedo as he airily smoked in a room that fell around him, not wanting to change in any shape or form. But it was in his nature, to constantly appear well dressed for any occasion. That was his armor, and it managed to keep him alive for this long.

"Sure, and I've been called worse."

"I figured that." Dean muttered under his breath, but his words had weight and drifted over to Six's ears.

"Gee, thanks. You sure know how to melt a gal's heart, ain't that right, Deannie?" And with a curse Six was a foot below, digging her fingernails into the bricks for any sort of grip. With the hot breath of the Sierra Madre on her neck, Six tip toed her way to the joining of another roof. Further off she could hear the heave and grunt of some of them, laying out some more traps for unsuspecting victims.

"You know me," a voice grumbled into the hot and sticky air, "a real sweet talker. Or so I've been told."

Six didn't have to crane her neck to know he was following her, they always did. Whether it was because of his own curiosity or the device that pressed its way against his neck, she didn't know. Either way, it was nice to have company. And she was a real sucker for one, even if he tended to sigh and swoon like a Pre-War lady in waiting.

She halted, and turned around. Or as well as she possibly could with the lack of space, and the sudden movement had her partner cursing.

"What?" he hissed, glaring at the swirling shapes over her shoulders. With the copper scent of the Cloud in her nostrils, Six shuffled forward.

She only stopped until she was inches away, before she finally said it. The saying that had repeated in her head non-stop since she got here, and would continue to make its haunting in her skull.

"...So if life's worries have weighed you down, if you need an escape from your troubles, or if you just need an opportunity to begin again, join us, let go, and leave the world behind at the Sierra Madre grand opening this October... We'll be waiting."

"Oh, piss off!" Dean groaned, shoving her with the fingertips on his spare hand. She barely had time to catch herself before she stumbled downwards, and she was thankful that she did so. It was better than having her yokes scrambled on the road below, but still she laughed.

Maybe it was because of the brush with death, or how ridiculous the situations she seemed to get herself in. But she laughed, and the Sierra Madre laughed along with her.


End file.
